“No. Osanef is Sufaki, but the jafikn,that long hair braided in the back, that is an ancient custom: the warrior’s braid. No one has done it since the Conquest. It was forbidden the Sufaki then. But in recent years the rebel spirits have revived the custom—and the Robes of Color, which distinguish their houses. There are three Sufak houses of the ancient aristocracy surviving, and t’Tefur is of one. He is a dangerous man. His name is Shan t’Tefur u Tlekef, or as he prefers to be known—Tlekefu Shan Tefur. He is Elas’ bitter enemy, and he is yours, not alone for the sake of Elas.”

“Because I’m human? But I understood Sufaki had no particular hate for—” And it dawned on him, with a sudden heat of the face.

“Yes,” said Kta, “he has been the Methi’s lover for many months.”

“What—does your custom say he and I should do about it?”

“Sufak custom says he may try to make you fight him. And you must not. Absolutely you must not.”

“Kta, I may be helpless in most things nemet, but if he wants to press a fight, that is something I can understand. Do you mean a fight, or do you mean a fight to the death? I am not that anxious to kill him over her, but neither am I going to be—”

“Listen. Hear what I am saying to you. You must avoid a fight with him. I do not question your courage or your ability. I am asking this for the sake of Elas. Shan t’Tefur is dangerous.”

“Do you expect me to allow myself to be killed? Is he dangerous in that sense, or how?”

“He is a power among the Sufaki. He sought more power, which the Methi could give him. You have made him lose honor and you have threatened his position of leadership. You are resident with Elas, and we are of the Indras-descended. Until now, the Methi has inclined toward the Sufaki, ever since she dispensed with me as an interpreter. She has been surrounded by Sufaki, chosen friends of Shan t’Tefur, and has drawn much of her power from them, so much so that the Great Families are uneasy. But of a sudden Shan t’Tefur finds his footing unsteady.”

They walked in silence for a moment. Increasingly bitter and embarrassed thoughts reared up. Kurt glanced at the nemet. “You pulled me from the harbor. You saved my life. You gave me everything I have—by Djan’s leave. You went to her and asked for me, and if not for that—I would be—I would certainly not be walking the streets free. So do not misunderstand what I ask you. But you said that from the time I arrived in Nephane, people knew that I would become involved with the Methi. Was I pushed toward that, Kta? Was I aimed at her,—an Indras weapon—against Shan t’Tefur?”

And to his distress, Kta did not answer at once.

“Is it the truth, then?” Kurt asked.

“Kurt, you have married within my house.”

“Is it true?” he insisted.

“I do not know how a human hears things,” Kta protested. “Or whether you attribute to me motives no nemet would have, or fail to think what would be obvious to a nemet. Gods, Kurt—”

“Answer me.”

“When I first saw you—I thought—He is the Methi’s kind. Is that not most obvious? Is there offense in that? And I thought: He ought to be treated kindly, since he is a gentle being, and since one day he may be more than he seems now. And then an unworthy thought came to me: It would be profitable to your house, Kta t’Elas. And there is offense in that. At the time you were only human to me; and to a nemet, that does not oblige one to deal morally. I do offend you. I cause you pain. But that is the way it was. I think differently now. I am ashamed.”

“So Elas took me in,—to use.”

“No,” said Kta quickly. “We would never have opened—”

His words died as Kurt kept staring at him. “Go ahead,” said Kurt. “Or do I already understand?”

Kta met his eyes directly, contrition in a nemet. “Elas is holy to us. I owe you a truth. We would never have opened our doors to you—to anyone—Very well, I will say it: it is unthinkable that I would have exposed my hearth to human influence, whatever the advantage is promised with the Methi. Our hospitality is sacred, and not for sale for any favor. But I made a mistake—in my anxiousness to win your favor, I gave you my word; and the word of Elas is sacred too. So I accepted you. My friend, let our friendship survive this truth: when the other Families reproached Elas for taking a human into its rhmei,we argued simply that it was better for a human to be within an Indras house than that you be sent to the Sufaki instead, for the influence of the Sufaki is already dangerously powerful. And I think another consideration influenced Djan-methi in hearing me: that your life would have been in constant danger in a Sufak house, because of the honor of Shan t’Tefur,—although I dared not say it in words. So she sent you to Elas. I think she feared t’Tefur’s reaction even if you remained in the Afen.”

“I understand,” said Kurt, because it seemed proper to say something. The words hurt. He did not trust himself to say much.

“Elas loves and honors you,” said Kta, and when Kurt still failed to answer him he looked down, and with what appeared much thought, he cautiously extended his hand to take his arm, touching like Mim, with feather-softness. It was an unnatural gesture for the nemet; it was one studied, copied, offered now on the public street as an act of desperation.

Kurt stopped perforce, set his jaw against the tears which threatened.

“Avoid t’Tefur,” Kta pleaded. “If the housefriend of Elas kills the heir of Tefur,—or if he kills you—killing will not stop there. He will provoke you if he can. Be wise. Do not let him do this.”

“I understand. I have told you that.”

Kta glanced down, gave the sketch of a bow. The hand dropped. They walked on, near to Elas.

“Have I a soul?” Kurt asked him suddenly, and looked at him.

The nemet’s face was shocked, frightened.

“Have I a soul?” Kurt asked again.

“Yes,” said Kta, which seemed difficult for him to say.

It was, Kurt thought, an admission which had already cost Kta some of his peace of mind.

The Upei, the council, met that day in the Afen and adjourned, as by law it must, as the sun set, to convene again at dawn.

Nym returned to the house at dusk, greeted lady Ptas and Hef at the door. When he came into the rhmeiwhere the light was, the senator looked exhausted, utterly drained. Aimu hastened to bring water for washing, while Ptas prepared the tea.

There was no discussion of business during the meal. Such matters as Nym had on his mind were reserved for the rounds of tea that followed. Instead Nym asked politely after Mim’s preparation for her wedding, and for Aimu’s, for both were spending their days sewing, planning, discussing the coming weddings, keeping the house astir with their happy excitement and sometimes tears, and Aimu glanced down prettily and said that she had almost completed her own trousseau and that they were working together on Mim’s things, for, Aimu thought, their beloved human was not likely to choose the long formal engagement such as she had had with Bel.

“I met our friend the elder t’Osanef,” said Nym in answer to that, “and it is not unlikely, little Aimu, that we will advance the date of your own wedding.”

“ Ei,” murmured Aimu, her dark eyes suddenly wide. “How far, honored Father?”

“Perhaps within a month.”

“Beloved husband,” exclaimed Ptas in dismay, “such haste?”

“There speaks a mother,” Nym said tenderly. “Aimu, child, do you and Mim go fetch another pot of tea. And then go to your sewing. There is business afoot hereafter.”

“Shall I—?” asked Kurt, offering by gesture to depart.

“No, no, our guest. Please sit with us. This business concerns the house, and you are soon to be one of us.”

The tea was brought and served with all formality. Then Mim and Aimu withdrew, leaving the men of the house and Ptas. Nym took a slow sip of tea and looked at his wife.